Month: February 2007

Eventually, my girlfriend and I broke up (she actually broke up with me — fair is fair) and she moved out, taking the cat with her.

I was completely cool with that. While the cat no doubt dug both of us, she did all the dirty work with him, so I was in no position to say she couldn’t have him. Honestly, I wouldn’t have, anyway. While I liked the little bastard, I am not a cat person. I can take them or leave them.

A couple months later, the ex called.

“I need a favor.”

“What?” I asked. Last favor she had asked for, I had was such a dick about, she didn’t talk to me for weeks. And when I say I was a dick, I mean that in a good way. It was necessary. But that’s neither here nor there.

“Can you take Mr. Jingles for a while?” Yes, that’s his name. I did not name him. I had no decision in the naming of the cat. That’s fine, though. Of course if it were my cat, I would have named him Brutus or Damien. For what it’s worth, he also answers to Dumb Ass. Because that’s what he is and that’s what I call him.

“Why?” I asked.

“He’s freaking out here. There’s a lot of stray cats running around outside, and he howls at them at night. He’s really stressed out. It will only be until I get a new place.”

“Okie dokie,” I said. I really didn’t want to, but Mr. Jingles wasn’t a huge annoyance to me and I didn’t want him all stressed out if he didn’t have to be.

Keep in mind this exchange happened four years ago. And if I glance to my right, I can see Mr. Jingles sleeping on the futon.

Moving on, not long after I took temporary custody of the cat, the former roomie moved in. With her two cats. Oh joy.

But it worked out pretty good. Nicki took to the cat quick — and vice versa — and picked up the ex’s role in doing all the dirty work. (And if I never thanked you for that, Nicki, I’m a dick. It was much appreciated). I slipped back into my role of petting him if he happened to be around.

Then Nicki said the most wonderful thing. She said, “You know I’m taking him with me when I move out, right?”

Years ago, my then girlfriend decided to get a cat. The conversation went as follows:

“I want to get a cat.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to go with me to pick one out?”

“Um… Sure.”

“Don’t you want a cat?”

“I grew up with cats, honey. I don’t really like them.”

“You don’t want me to get a cat?”

“No. I don’t really care if you do. But I want to make it clear: I will not feed it, I will not give it water, I will not change its litter, I will not play with it. I might pet it if its around me.”

“That’s fine. I’ll do all that.”

Seeing how she was an adult, I figured it was settled. I am so dumb sometimes.

So we went out and she picked out a cat. I have to admit, it was a good choice. It was the runt of the litter and it was one of those Hemingway cats that have the extra toe.

A couple of months later, I was washing clothes, and she was changing the litter. I asked her something and she snapped at me.

The conversation went as follows:

“What the hell? What’s your problem?”

“You. Ever since we got the cat, you haven’t changed his litter ONCE. You haven’t fed him ONCE. I’ve done it all. But you sure as hell pet him.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute. Did we not have a conversation before we got the cat? I told you I wouldn’t be doing any of it. You said no problem. You said you’d do it. Do you not remember that?”

“I remember.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I thought you were lying.”

“Why the hell would I lie about that?”

“So are you going to start doing any of it?”

“No.”

She was getting more pissed.

“Why not?”

“Because I told you from the beginning I wasn’t going to do any of it,” I said. “I’m not going to start now.”

“But he’s our cat!”

“Correction. He’s your cat.”

“So you wouldn’t care if I got rid of him,” She said. I’m fairly certain that wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“Not really,” I replied. I knew she wouldn’t.

I got the silent treatment the rest of the day.

This post was originally going to be about that same dumbass cat. Which is for all intents and purposes mine, now. But to go through all that, the post would be super long.

So this is probably going to be a three parter with little payoff. Don’t get your hopes up, it’s just going to be what a bonehead that cat is.

And I will not make this a pet blog. Or start a pet blog as my cat. That’s one of the damn dumbest blog ideas I’ve come across. I can’t fathom why some people think that sort of thing is cute — either the readers or the creators. Animals aren’t human, people.

My favorite meat is steak. Nothing fancy. Just steak. Sometimes with A1 and sometimes with ketchup. And, man, I realize how redneck that latter is, but I can’t help it. I used to eat ketchup and bologna sandwiches. Even I don’t know how I did that.

I’ve gone to more than a few fancy pants restaurants in my time, and honestly I can’t see the big deal. You get a huge plate with barely any food but, oh look, there’s little squigly designs on the plate. And a flower. I’m sorry, but pretty doesn’t fill my stomach. And fancy is just another term for you’ll be going somewhere else for more food later.

Listen, kids. Yeah, @Shudder is awesome, we all already know this. But let's give some love to not just the service, but also the people who do the support. It's always been a pleasure dealing with those fine folks. Makes me even happier I'm a subscriber.